Pressed Flowers
by Elderberry
Summary: A oneshot showing Lily through Petunia's eyes at various points in time, from when they were young up to Lily's death. A few theories to explain Petunia's attitude to magic. Brief appearances of Vernon, Marge, and MWPP including Punk!Sirius.


_And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. —_Order of the Phoenix

'Sit still, Lily, you're making it go all wonky.'

Lily, who is seven, wriggles impatiently.

'Can't I be the hairdresser now?'

'No, I'm the hairdresser because I'm the oldest.'

Lily subsides into mutinous silence. Petunia is eleven, and wouldn't be seen dead pretending hairdressers if her friends were there, but has always secretly preferred her sister's thick red hair to her own wispy blonde locks. She weaves the bright strands of Lily's hair into one heavy plait, ties the end, and sits back to admire how neat it is. Lily, naturally, immediately undoes her hair and shakes it loose, provoking a scolding from her elder sister.

'…So you just can sit _still_ while I do it all again, Lily. There. Now don't move your head.'

Petunia re-does her sister's hair, with perhaps slightly more pulling than is necessary, while Lily sits glowering and sulky. Absently, Petunia reaches up one hand to her own hair, as it has fallen across her face, and is puzzled to find it about an inch longer than normal. She steps back to look in the mirror, and yes, her hair is now past her shoulders. Suddenly, she freezes; she realises, with alarm, that she can actually see her hair getting longer by the second, and parts are curling and rippling as if with a life of their own.

Lily has a small, wicked smile on her face, and her green eyes glitter as they remain fixed on her sister's reflection. She is still sitting perfectly motionless.

As her hair twists and loops itself into wild, improbable shapes, Petunia knows, without knowing how she does, that Lily, or rather Lily's temper, is the cause of this abrupt unpredictability.

'Lily,' she says harshly, her voice sounding more scared than she thought she was, 'Stop it this instant!' A writhing blonde tendril twines itself around her wrist, tightly, as she tries in vain to subdue her rebellious hair with one hand. Panic wells up and Petunia is suddenly terrified that her own hair is going strangle her to death.

'_Lily!_'

The movement stops. Petunia slowly, cautiously, lifts her head to look in the mirror again. Her hair sticks out at all angles from her head, in knots and tangles, woven into a shape slightly resembling a cocoon. She tugs at her right hand but can't get it free, so is forced to stand there, absurdly, with one hand stuck to the side of her head.

Lily bursts into peals of gleeful laughter.

>

When Lily is eleven, Petunia learns that her sister's inexplicable ability for making strange things happen is in fact something good, something to be admired; an extraordinary man appears in the middle of their front room and tells their parents this. Petunia hovers at the edge of the door, not quite daring to go in, and listens.

That evening at dinner, her mother excitedly tells her that Lily has a _very_ special talent _indeed_, and that next September she is going to an _amazing_ school on a special train where there are lots of other children with talents like Lily's.

'Isn't it wonderful for your sister, love!' says their father, a cheerful Welshman who owns a flower shop.

Lily and their mother go up to London on a shopping trip and return with all sorts of mysterious, interesting objects. Petunia does not know what most of them are for. While Lily is trying on her new cloak, Petunia goes quietly over to the kitchen table, where Lily had placed with care the slim, carved stick of wood. She had previously demonstrated to their father, with much pride, the way fiery sparks sprang out whenever she waved it. Petunia reaches out hesitantly and grasps the smooth wood. With a quick glance to check no one is watching she waves it. Nothing happens.

>

When Lily is fifteen, Petunia starts going out with Vernon, who is tall, bull-necked, and vain about his thick, dark, Brylcreemed hair, which he parts (ruler-straight) on the side. They go to the cinema every Friday like clockwork, and afterwards drink tea in the place round the corner. He talks about the apprenticeship he's finishing with a local engineering firm, the money he's going to earn in five years and what he intends to do with it. She fills in the gaps with gossip and asks after Vernon's mother's health every other Friday. They both agree that the world is in a dreadful state nowadays, and that it's shocking the government doesn't do more about it. Vernon occasionally adds that it's down to all those foreigners, who are getting far too full of themselves.

Afterwards, Vernon always walks her all the way up to her front door. Tonight, as he does so, Petunia is considering, for the first time, inviting him in, but when she steps into the hallway she catches an unexpected glimpse of red hair through the half-open door to the kitchen, and remembers that Lily came home for the Easter holidays today. Petunia says a hasty goodbye to Vernon, because the idea of asking him in and introducing him to her sister, who is wearing an outlandish yellow cloak over her normal clothes, is to her unthinkable. Lily looks up inquisitively as her sister enters the kitchen.

'Was that Vernon Dursley, Pet?' Are you _really _going out with him?' Her incredulous tone is slightly insulting, though probably unintentionally so.

'Don't call me Pet.' Petunia knows she sounds childish, and is all the more annoyed because of it. She purses her lips and goes over to the sink, where, she notices, no one has yet bothered to do the washing-up. Lily shrugs and goes back to her conversation with their mother, who is curious about everything magical and peppers Lily with eager questions every time she comes back from school. Petunia listens with growing irritation, scrubbing at saucepans viciously.

'And he's so _rude_, Mum, and thinks he's so clever, and he hexed a Slytherin first-year the other day, a first-year! The poor little thing barely came up to his shoulder! The teachers let him get away with it half the time, too, because they think he's _funny-_'

Hexed? Petunia thinks, what's hexed? Much of Lily's vocabulary is now incomprehensible to her.

'And the other day in Divination, he- '

'_Divination_? Isn't that finding water or something?' asks Petunia in disbelief. 'Do they really teach you that?'

'Divination is telling the future,' says Lily in a talking-to-small-children voice. Petunia snorts derisively.

'Oh? You'll be reading my hand and telling me I'm going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger next.' Lily looks at her, eyes glinting.

'What, that lummox Dursley? Well, two out of three isn't bad, Pet.'

Petunia flushes red and bangs the last plate down on the draining board. She starts on the teacups, concentrating on getting every inch white and gleaming. Petunia likes things to be clean. Her mother casts a worried glance at her, then turns to Lily again and asks in an overly bright voice,

'What are your other subjects again, love? There's Divination, and Charms, you told me about that one, and Trans- transifer- what was it again?'

'Transfiguration, Mum. Turning things into other things.'

Petunia sniffs pointedly. Transfiguration indeed.

'Like this,' Lily says, and suddenly there is warm, _squirming_ hairy flesh under Petunia's fingers. A shudder of revulsion jolts through her body and she snatches her hands away with a shriek; the rat scrabbles across the draining board and on to the floor, where at a word in Latin from Lily it abruptly becomes a teacup again. The brief clank of the china against the tiles is the only sound in the kitchen.

Petunia rushes from the kitchen without a word, ignoring the calls of her mother, and washes her hands five times before she stops shaking. When her sister comes to find her Petunia feels the same shock of disgust that she did at the rat, and it must show on her face, as Lily turns around and leaves immediately without speaking.

They both share a room, and Petunia is dreading going to bed. She goes upstairs and sees a cup of tea on her nightstand and her sister looking at her with a half-worried, half-smiling expression. She also notices that Lily has placed her wand right on the other side of the room, away from them both. Petunia gives a subdued smile and drinks the tea.

>

Two years later, when Lily is now Head Girl Lily Evans, Petunia can't sleep. Three months ago she agreed to go out with Vernon again, after a year and a bit of them avoiding each other on the street and looking awkward when they met by chance. She is still not entirely sure why she agreed. While Petunia stares at the shadows on the ceiling and watches the lights of the occasional passing car flicker on the wall, Lily sleeps, peacefully and easily. They still share a room.

Suddenly, Petunia hears something tapping sharply on the window, and is instantly entirely alert. Silence. Did she imagine it? Or-

'Evans!' a voice hisses from right outside the window. 'Lily! Open up!' Sounds like a boy, thinks Petunia. She is just about to get up and look, when the full implications of a voice right outside the window when your room is up one flight of stairs hit her. Whoever it is taps again, and Petunia hears Lily stir and sit up. 'Evans!' comes the whispered voice again. Lily claps a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, and scrambles out of bed. She glances at Petunia, who is now pretending to be asleep, before opening the window.

'James, what on earth are you- Black, is that a _motorbike?_' Petunia hears the indistinct murmur of a low male voice in answer. Lily whispers again, exasperated but clearly amused.

'You _can't_ come in, you'll wake my sister up. Not to mention my parents. Honestly, if you just came to see me at a reasonable hour, instead of flying across the country in the middle of the night-'

'You come down then,' says the first voice. 'Come on Lily, we've flown all the way here to see you- Remus actually got on a broomstick, _especially_ for you, which is no mean feat when you're as pathetic at flying as he is, let me tell you- ow!'

'All right, all right, I'm coming. Serve you right if he knocks you off your broom, Potter.' Petunia wonders at the easy familiarity in her sister's voice. Lily shuts the window, shrugs on a jacket over her pyjamas and patters out of the room in her bare feet. Petunia lies there, burning with curiosity, for all of a minute before giving in and following her sister.

The night air has a bite in it, and Petunia shivers as she slides out of the back door to stand in the shadows. Lily and her visitors are sitting on the grass by the shed, huddled around a small fire that is not quite the right colour and somehow not setting the lawn alight. Petunia is only a few metres away from the five of them, but they're so absorbed in their laughing conversation they haven't noticed her presence.

She looks at their faces, made slightly alien by the shadows of the flickering firelight. A laughing Lily, expression more alive than Petunia has seen it for months, leaning comfortably against a gangly bespectacled boy, his arm wrapped around her waist. He watches her when he thinks no one is looking, with such obvious adoration in his face it seems as if the rest of the world, to him, does not exist. Presumably this is James. A dark-haired boy with sharp cheekbones and a cigarette, feet propped casually on the legs of another boy with thin shoulders and a quiet smile. One more boy, dirty blond, who laughs then checks to see if the others are laughing too, and looks eagerly from one person to another for their approval after speaking.

Their ease in each other's company is clear, and Petunia has a brief pang of something she resolutely does not identify as envy. She wants, suddenly, to have someone who would impulsively drape an arm around her, or lie across her knees, or even someone who'd lean out and fondly hit her over the head, as the dark-haired boy has just done to his friend next to him. For a brief moment, Petunia has a mad impulse to step forward and sit down in the warmth of the fire, smile at her sister, join in the conversation. Then she shrinks back into the darkness as one of the boys scrambles to his feet.

'Er. We should really be going now,' says the thin boy, his voice noncommittal.

'What? Why?' says the one with dark hair, frowning. He reaches out and yanks his friend back down to the grass. 'Don't be ridiculous, Remus, we've practically only just arrived.'

'No, Sirius, _we_, you me and Peter, should really be _going._' Comprehension dawns on- Sirius? Can that really be his name? Scarcely better than Remus- the dark-haired boy's face. He leers in the direction of James and Lily and wiggles his eyebrows.

'Oh, I _see_. We'll be off then, shall we? Leave you two _alone_.' James rolls his eyes and grins.

'Idiot,' he says with affection. The three other boys, with much shoving, disappear down the side alleyway next to the house and a minute later Petunia hears a purring roar start and fade into the distance.

Petunia looks at her sister again. Lily tips her head to rest it on James' shoulder. He shifts to move his arms more securely around her. Lily's cheeks are tinged a pale pink from the cold. They don't talk, content to sit there quiet and together, and look so intensely peaceful and private that Petunia, though reluctantly, is compelled to slip back inside the house. She feels like crying and she doesn't know why.

The next day, Vernon, in a self-conscious voice and with much coughing, proposes. Petunia can see that he has not for one minute wondered if she'll refuse. She says yes.

Three nights later, James comes again to visit Lily on his own, and then starts appearing at more conventional times every few days. His girlfriend's parents are delighted to meet him. Petunia listens, unseen.

>

Petunia steps out of the church into the clear September afternoon, with the solid presence of Vernon, smelling of soap, by her side. She smoothes the moderately expensive material of her wedding dress over her knees as she gets into the awaiting car, and tries out her new name in her head. _Petunia Dursley_. She doesn't feel much different from Petunia Evans. _Mrs Dursley_. That sounded old, far too old.

They arrive at the reception, which is being held at Vernon's parents' house, and Petunia goes off to change while Vernon gets his back slapped by assorted red-nosed male relatives. When she returns, in neat blue, she is descended upon by a flock of elderly aunts.

'…a _lovely_ ceremony, Petunia dear!'

'I hope you liked the napkin rings, Petunia, you can _never_ have too many, you know!'

'_Such_ a shame your sister couldn't make it,' says one aunt, hopefully. The odd disappearances of Lily have never been satisfactorily explained to the extended family; Petunia knows the general consensus among the aunts is that her sister is In Trouble of a scandalous nature, so naturally they are eager for affirmation and, more importantly, shocking details.

'Yes, it is,' says Petunia, and carefully moves the conversation on to the quality of the catering. Petunia doesn't know why Lily is not there, and has not asked their mother about it. Since she left school, not especially long ago, Lily's presence at home has been sporadic to say the least. Their mother always seems cheerful but new lines on her face betray her concern.

'Petunia!' roars a horribly hearty voice. 'Finally made an honest man out of Vernon, eh?' Petunia winces inwardly. Marge. She can tell who it is without turning round by the fearsome _clump _of her- Oh God- her new _sister-in-law's _aggressively sensible shoes.

Marge, habitually encased in tweed but right now a vision in spectacularly ill-chosen green polyester, is large, loud, and was fated from birth to teach hockey at an all-girls school. She thinks nothing of tracking mud across a clean floor. Both Marge, and, incidentally, mud on clean floors scrape across Petunia's nerves like claws on a blackboard.

Petunia makes her way into the garden, hoping to gain a few minutes respite from the reception and also to recover from her conversation with Marge, who always left her a little drained. A few moments later, Vernon appears, looking worried and solicitous.

'_There_ you are, Petunia. Are you all right?'

'Oh…yes. Just a bit too warm in there.'

'Ah.' Petunia looks at him, his face still anxious and unsure, and realises she does love him, in her own way. She had been wondering whether she did, in the past few days, but now she is sure. He is dependable, and likes it when she flatters him, and is inexplicably proud of her being blonde and boasts about her to his friends. He is not perfect, but he's there and she knows he won't go away. Petunia smiles at him, and he gives a slightly confused smile back, clearly not entirely sure what was the matter but glad it has passed. Then he frowns.

'What's that noise?' He looks up at the twilight sky, and then Petunia hears it too, a muted roar from somewhere above their heads. A small black dot appears below the clouds, moving rapidly towards them, and as it gets closer, Petunia can just about make out the shape, but no it can't be that's impossible it's _her_ it's not it's-

'A flying _motorbike_?' Vernon splutters. His face has gone an extremely unlikely colour. He watches, open-mouthed and lost for words as a black, purring, sinfully gleaming machine alights smoothly and with utmost precision upon his parents' back lawn. It looks supremely out of place next to the begonias.

The motorbike, however, is _nothing_ compared to its owner.

His substantial boots hit the ground with a thump as he swings off the bike with an easy grace, and Petunia suddenly recognises him, although the last time she saw him he didn't have the shaved head or the studded dog collar. One of the boys who came with James to visit Lily. A…one of _them._

'Hello,' he says, with a feral smile, 'I'm Sirius.' He extends a hand. Petunia does not take it, because she is too preoccupied with frantically thinking what she is going to say to the aunts inside and wondering how he got into those leather trousers. She is vaguely aware of Vernon making a series of interesting choking noises beside her.

'Are- you- Lily's- sister?' the boy says clearly and slowly, after a long pause, seemingly having taken Petunia's expression of panic as evidence of mental subnormality.

'Er. Yes,' she manages. No one inside seems to have noticed yet that a flying punk has just landed on the lawn, thank God, and perhaps if she can just get him to go away quickly no one will.

'Right. Well, she's really sorry she couldn't come, she's in a bit of a…tricky state at the moment, but she really wants to see you, so if you could just…' He gestures at the motorbike. It takes a few seconds for Petunia to register what he means.

'You want me,' she says flatly, 'To get on that. With you.'

'Yes. To come and see Lily. Look, it's perfectly safe, and it's got a Cushioning Charm and everything.'

'Look here,' says Vernon indignantly, finding his voice at last, 'You can't just- _fly_ in here and-' The boy stares at him, surprised and a little amused.

'Oh,' he says, with slow insolence, 'I think I can.' He smiles again, and Petunia notices the carved wooden handle that has just appeared in his hand. Yes, he can, can't he, she thinks.

'Vernon,' she says, making an effort to keep the tremor out of her voice, 'I'll- I'll be back soon. Tell them…I don't know. Make something up. Please. Tell my mother I've gone to see Lily.' He gapes.

'But Petunia, really, this _person_…' Vernon lowers his voice, and hisses, 'He looks like a _very_ unsuitable type. Probably dangerous.'

'Absolutely,' says the boy in cheerful tones. 'I'd love to stay and talk all day, Mr Muggle, but we really need to be going now.' He waves his wand with a flourish and mutters several somethings, and Petunia finds herself sailing through the air onto the back of the motorbike.

'It'll wear off in a few minutes,' says the boy to Vernon, and leaps on in front of her. The engine revs. Vernon gives a strangled shout, and attempts to move forward, but it looks as if his feet are unaccountably stuck to the ground. The expression on his face as he watches, helplessly, his newly-made wife being spirited away on a flying motorbike by a skinhead in black leather is one that will stay with Petunia for a long, long time.

It's not a long flight, but Petunia squashes all attempts at conversation on the way there, and by the time they land it is dark and neither the owner of his motorbike or his passenger are in a particularly good mood.

'Is this it?' Petunia asks, climbing unsteadily off the motorbike with as much dignity that she can muster. She is not sure what she was expecting, but certainly not this, a dingy, deserted-looking block of flats with misspelled graffiti on the walls. The boy called Sirius grunts something that may have been a 'yes' and jerks his head for her to follow him. They go up three flights of concrete stairs, each smelling worse than the one before. When they reach the door, Sirius has to do something complicated to it with his wand and Petunia looks away, feeling unsteady, until the door swings open.

And there is Lily, lying on a battered sofa, hair a mess, looking so much older than Petunia pictures her, with worry creased around her eyes that didn't used to be there. Petunia sees all this in a rush, and then her breath stops short because she has just noticed there's a large amount of empty space where Lily's legs and lower torso ought to be. There's no gory wound or blood as far as Petunia can see; Lily just seems to stop existing at her waist.

'It's all right, Petunia,' Lily says hurriedly, 'I just had a bit of an accident getting here. I'm not hurt or anything, James is going to put my legs back on for me in a moment.'

Oh, well that's OK then, thinks Petunia, fighting hysteria. He's going to put her _legs _back on. Couldn't leave them off, I suppose.

James walks in from the next room, with, yes, Lily's half-heartedly waving legs tucked under his arm. He gives an awkward nod to Petunia, who he has met on the odd visit but never talked to.

'You're going to have to help me with the second part of the charm, love,' he says to Lily, who nods and goes a bit pale.

'Idiot,' says Sirius, 'That's what _I'm _here for. Or had you forgotten about me?'

'I don't think that's actually physically possible,' mutters James, but grins. He and Sirius launch into a technical discussion involving much waving of hands and poking of Lily's legs, and Lily looks up at Petunia and smiles with genuine warmth at her.

'Congratulations, Pet! Sorry about dragging you all the way here, but I _couldn't _not see you on your wedding day, and we haven't had much of a chance to talk for ages, it seems like.'

Petunia has no idea what to say. She wants to scream at her sister, ask her why she can't live a life that doesn't involve removal of limbs, why she made that horrible boy with his stupid motorbike come and fetch her and scare her and look at Vernon like he wasn't even worth contempt, why she can't just be normal and make Petunia's life a whole lot easier. She wants to whine 'it's not fair!' like a petty child.

But she doesn't say any of it, because Lily looks so pleased to see her and so uncomplicatedly happy despite being cut in half, so she sits next to Lily on the sofa and tells her about the wedding, about her dress and her presents and who was there, and her sister laughs and makes sympathetic groans when she hears about Marge and the aunts, and Petunia feels like they're proper sisters for once.

When James and Sirius finally reach an agreement, there is no blood, or green smoke or mysterious potions, just a few words and a short gasp from Lily and then her legs are firmly in place, with no sign of a join or a scar when Lily lifts her shirt a little to inspect her stomach. Petunia asks, not sure if she's going to like the answer,

'Lily, how did you…_lose_ your legs in the first place?' Her sister laughs, but it sounds a bit strained.

'We- me and James, that is- we had to get out of somewhere fast, and, well, magic doesn't always go right if you panic and don't do it properly…'

Petunia is aware of a quick flickering glance between the other three people in the room, and knows that it means that she mustn't be told too much, that she's asked about something secret; what had Lily been doing, that she had to 'get out fast', and panicked enough to detach her legs? But she knows that no one's going to tell her, and a change of subject conveniently presents itself at the front of her mind.

'How- how am I getting back?' Vernon would be going mad by now, though Petunia suspects her mother will have thought of a convincing story to explain to the guests why the bride apparently chose to disappear rather than go on her honeymoon.

'Oh, I'll take you. Sirius'll lend me the motorbike, won't you Sirius?' Petunia supposes that Lily and the flying motorbike is at least a slight improvement on Sirius and the flying motorbike.

'Can you…actually drive it, Lily?' asks Petunia, as they go outside.

'Fly it, you mean. Yes, I thought it'd be useful to learn, although James nearly had a fit when I said I was going to.' Lily snorts. 'As if it wasn't just as dangerous for Sirius as it is for me.'

'It was a bit of a shock, him turning up like that, you know.' This is the nearest Petunia can get to reproach, to asking her sister how she could be so thoughtless, to asking how she thinks it feels when a strange man, who can _control _with a piece of wood everything you do, turns up on a motorbike to carry you off God knows where and for God knows how long.

Lily giggles.

'Oh goodness yes, I suppose it must have been, I am sorry, Petunia. I was going to send James, because you know him at least, but he wouldn't leave me. Said he didn't want me getting into more trouble. As if I could do anything anyway when I couldn't walk anywhere!'

The flight back is short and without incident. Vernon sits looking bewildered while Petunia and her mother explain a few things about Lily to him. Later, Petunia privately asks him not to mention Lily to her, for she is determined that her sister is not going to invade every corner of her life with her strangeness. It works surprisingly well; Vernon seems to have forgotten the incident within a few weeks, probably, Petunia suspects, through sheer force of wanting it never to have happened.

>

The wedding invitation is in green ink on heavy cream-coloured parchment. Petunia looks at it once and drops it into the bin, throwing the potato peelings in after it.

>

Lily's voice cracks once then doesn't waver as she tells Petunia that their parents died instantly, didn't feel any pain, didn't even see the other car swerve towards them out of nowhere. Lily and James were injured but lived; apparently people like them had rather more effective survival instincts than others. They hadn't seen the other car either, but nonetheless a chance quirk of genetics had meant that a second before the collision, they had involuntarily done…something (Petunia had not wanted to listen too closely) that meant an impact which should have killed them didn't. They hadn't even realised what had happened for a few minutes, Lily explains.

Petunia can see the guilt in her sister's face, that she survived where her parents didn't, can see the plea in her eyes for…what? Comfort? Forgiveness? Absolution? But Petunia offers none of them and says not a word, just holds onto her baby so tightly he begins to cry, and eventually Lily leaves.

She sees her again at the funeral, of course, skin looking deathly white and hair brighter than ever against the solid black of her dress. The dress also shows something Petunia hadn't noticed the last time she saw her sister; the round swelling curve of Lily's stomach. It makes her thoughts dart to Dudley, and she wonders if the babysitter has managed to get him to sleep. She doesn't like having to leave him, always feels a fierce, protective possessiveness pull her towards him even if she's only in the next room and he's safely asleep.

Petunia tries to leave after the service without talking to her, but she comes across and takes her arm urgently, frantic words spilling out in a confusing torrent.

'Petunia, I've been thinking, and- the thing is, I can't tell you too much about it because it's dangerous, I'm not allowed, but that's just _why_ I want to- you see, me and James, we've been doing work that's, well, it's not exactly safe but it's important- more important than I can tell you.'

Petunia stares, wide-eyed.

'It's just that, and I know this sounds completely unlikely, there's- people- who'd prefer it if me and James were...well, dead. And I didn't want to even _think_ about it but I couldn't help wondering, and it might not even be true, but they…they could have done it. The car. And…it's too late for me to help Mum and Dad, but I can't _bear_ to think it might happen to you.'

By now tears are sliding down Lily's face, and out of the corner of her eye Petunia can see James making his way over, looking concerned. Lily goes on, her voice thick and choked.

'I want to- would you let me put wards around your house? Or protection spells, on you and Vernon and Dudley? You wouldn't know they were there, I promise, it won't do anything to you…'

Petunia, horror-struck, suddenly understands what Lily is talking about.

'No,' she blurts out, surprised by the violence in her own voice. 'No, you can't- I won't have it- you're not to put your _spells_ on Dudley, on my baby, you leave me- leave us _alone_, I won't have your- unnaturalness-' Petunia puts her hands to her throat as her words fly into hysteria, and Lily is sobbing now, and James is pulling her away with soothing murmurs, looking almost as heartbroken himself as she does.

Petunia sits white and rigid on the journey home, Vernon looking at her anxiously while he drives. When they get back she goes straight to find Dudley and sits for the whole night listening to him sleep, and she doesn't cry a single tear.

>

_Dear Petunia,_

_I know you don't want to talk to me, but please read this letter. You don't have to answer. I want you to know that if you change your mind about what I asked you at the funeral, I'll come. At any time. Please think about it._

_James and I have a son now, did you hear? Just a few weeks ago, at the end of July. His name is Harry and he's beautiful. He's Dudley's cousin, I've just realised._

_I can't stand this, Petunia, you're my sister. Please answer._

_Love Lily_

>

When the baby opens his eyes and looks at her, Petunia does not need to look at the letter beside him to know who he is; he has Lily's eyes. She also needs no explanation as to why he is on her doorstep. There is only one reason Lily would ever give up her child.


End file.
